


Tipsy

by suchanadorer



Series: Hamish Watson-Holmes [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-23
Updated: 2012-01-23
Packaged: 2017-10-30 00:55:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/325989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suchanadorer/pseuds/suchanadorer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hamish comes home from a particularly good party.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tipsy

Sherlock’s eyes flick open in the dark of the bedroom. He stares at the ceiling, waiting to see if the noise that woke him will come again, which it does. It’s the sound of metal scraping on metal, a thin, random sound barely detectable over the drumming of rain on the window.

“John. _John._ Wake up, John.” Sherlock hisses in his ear until John stirs, eyebrows raised and eyes wide open as he gains consciousness. He rubs at his eyes with the thumb and forefinger of one hand before turning his head. Sherlock is standing by the door in a pair of faded pyjama pants, eyes unfocused as he listens. One hand rests on the doorknob and he runs the other through his hair in a half-hearted attempt at righting the mess of dark curls.

“What is it this time, then?” John swings his feet over the side of the bed and fumbles on the table for his cell phone. He squints as the displays lights up, opening one eye to check the clock. He groans and sets it down beside him on the bed.

“Someone’s trying to break into the flat. Get dressed and bring your gun.” He motions towards the bedside table as he opens the door, leaning out. John searches blindly along the floor next to the bed for his pyjama pants and t-shirt, then opens the drawer and picks up his gun, checking that the safety is on as he rises to stand beside Sherlock in the doorway.

Sherlock edges out into the kitchen, eyes sweeping back and forth. The front door clicks open, creaking on its hinges.

“ _Ssssh!_ ” someone hisses downstairs. Sherlock lifts his chin, even as the rest of his body relaxes. John looks from him to the doorway and back, mouth slightly open. Sherlock’s laugh is a low, breathy sound.

“What the bloody hell is going on?” John surges forward but Sherlock brings an arm up to stop him.

“Hamish.” Sherlock grins, eyes shining in the darkness of the kitchen.

There is a hollow thud and a long scrape followed by giggling. John and Sherlock exchange a glance. John is still not smiling. Sherlock tilts his head, brows furrowed.

“It’s three in the bloody morning! Where has he been?” John whispers. Sherlock’s eyes go wide as John gestures with his gun towards the hallway. John drops his arm back to his side and stalks towards the bedroom. He returns unarmed but his eyes flick from Sherlock’s face to the direction from which the sound of Hamish’s laughter continues to come.

“He was at a party. He did tell us he’d be back late.” Sherlock looks back over his shoulder then turns away from John, heading towards the stairs. John rolls his eyes and follows after.

“He didn’t tell me!”

“He told me... _oh._ Yes. John, Hamish is going to a party tonight and-“

“Don’t. Just. Fine.”

Hamish is slumped at the bottom of the stairs, silhouetted in the light spilling in through the glass pane in the door. His head is hanging down between his arms, which are resting on his knees. His slender frame is shaking with laughter.

“Oh for goodness’ sakes.” John hisses as Hamish hiccups and tries to stand, bracing himself against the wall and sliding up. He makes it about halfway before his feet lose purchase and he sits again, hard. His head thumps back against the wall and he runs a hand through his hair, gasping for air as he laughs.

“Must have been a good party. Shall we?” Sherlock murmurs, lips closer to John’s ear than is strictly necessary. John nods curtly, folding his arms over his chest. Sherlock grins and flicks the light switch at the top of the stairs. Hamish yelps and tries to scramble to his feet. He makes it all the way up but is swaying, one hand braced against the wall. He draws his other hand over his face and takes a deep breath before looking up at his parents with glassy, unfocused eyes.

“Where have you been, young man?” Sherlock’s eyes widen as he looks down at John.

Hamish’s mouth opens. He takes a deep breath and points in John’s direction. “Dad. I.” He pitches forward, taking two long steps and landing on the stairs. He drops to his knees and looks up at them again, grinning. “I was at a party. Father knew. I told him.”

John turns to Sherlock, who shrugs. “I told you.”

“He told you now, didn’t he?” Hamish starts laughing again as he crawls up the stairs on his hands and knees. John sighs.

“How much have you had to drink, Hal?”

Hamish pauses, his head tilted to one side. His eyes focus and narrow and the fingers of one hand drum on the stair. He shrugs and pulls an exaggerated frown.

“No idea.” His head hangs loosely as he continues his climb. John goes down to meet him and hooks an arm under his elbow, lifting him to his feet and half-carrying him up the last few steps.

“You’re soaking wet. Where was this party? Did you walk home?”

“Umm. Yes. Yes, I walked.”

Sherlock presses himself against the wall, sniffing loudly as Hamish and John move past him. His mouth drops open as he follows them towards Hamish’s room. He leans in closer, his nose almost touching Hamish’s back as the three of them make their way up the stairs.

“Have you been smoking?”

“No, Father. They were smoking at the party but I didn’t. I promise.” John twists his torso and Hamish follows limply, half-collapsing onto his bed. He kicks his shoes off and attempts to climb in fully dressed, draping himself face-down across the bed.

“No, come on, Hal. At least take your belt off.” Hamish groans and mumbles protests into his pillow as John reaches under him and slips the belt off. “You’ll thank me tomorrow.”

Sherlock turns up at the door with a pitcher of water, a glass and two white pills. “What were you drinking?” This brings more mumbling, this time accompanied by hand-waving until Hamish turns slightly so he’s facing the wall.

“Vodka. There was wine and whiskey and... wine, but you said clear liquor only.” Sherlock ducks his head as John rounds on him.

“You said? Not only did you know our son was going to a party, you told him what to drink?!”

“I merely pointed out that clear liquors like vodka and rum move through your system more easily and will reduce the agony of the inevitable hangover. Red wine and whiskey are coloured. The colour is caused by impurities which slow the alcohol on its way through the human body, extending the amount of time one feels like one is going to die. It would have been impossible to keep him from drinking so I thought I would give him some advice to minimize the damage.” Sherlock strips Hamish as he talks, avoiding John’s glare.

“I’m not a child. You don’t have to... don’t need to undress me.” Hamish paws uselessly at the buttons on the front of his shirt. Sherlock hums in agreement even as he swats his hands away and peels off the soaking wet shirt. He does the same with Hamish’s jeans, draping them over the back of a chair to dry. Hamish protests weakly as Sherlock pulls the blankets up over him, fastidiously tucking them in around him.

“He’s out already.” John sighs but he’s smiling as he scrubs both hands through his hair. Sherlock slips an arm around his waist and John leans against him. For a moment they simply stand together, watching their sleeping son. Sherlock steps away first, catching John’s hand in his own and tugging lightly.

“Come on, he’ll be fine until tomorrow. Let’s go back to bed.” John turns to face him, his eyes lingering on Sherlock’s pale torso, almost porcelain in the weak light. Sherlock pulls at his hand again and this time John follows with only a quick glance back over his shoulder.

“I know what those parties can be like.”

“That is precisely why I didn’t tell you he was going. He will drink too much, he will get hung over, and he will remember both experiences. It is a part of growing up.”

“You feel like sleeping?” John asks, slipping his hands around Sherlock’s waist when they’re back in the kitchen. He presses his nose to Sherlock’s back, lips barely brushing his skin.

“Not particularly.” Sherlock turns in his arms and starts backing them towards the bedroom, slipping his hands under the hem of John’s t-shirt.

“The state Hal was in, he’d probably sleep through the Blitz.” John says as Sherlock pulls the t-shirt off over his head, tossing it into a corner of the bedroom

“Care to test your theory?” Sherlock smiles at him, sitting down on the edge of the bed and pulling John towards him so that he’s standing between Sherlock’s knees.

John glances up towards the ceiling and chuckles, shaking his head.

“I’m game if you are,” he says, even as Sherlock falls back onto the bed, pulling John down with him.

**Author's Note:**

> For more Hamish Watson-Holmes stories, be sure to check out [Hamish's Tumblr](http://hamish-watson-holmes.tumblr.com).


End file.
